


No mercy for the lost

by kenwaroo



Category: Vampire: The Requiem, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, not a native speaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwaroo/pseuds/kenwaroo
Summary: Ferka loves him just the way He is.
Relationships: Red Jack (Vampire: The Requiem)/Original Male Character(s)





	No mercy for the lost

**Author's Note:**

> It was a spontaneous idea, but I wanted to ruin one of my OC's life, implying that he's basically in love with a monster. Poor, poor Ferka. F.  
> Someday I may even draw them together, but no promises as of right now. We'll see.

Ferka knows what he implies when he recklessly steps behind the mirror every night. Basically, he consents to everything that can happen to him in the unknown world that belongs to Him. The man behind the glass, stone-hearted monster, supercilious to the point where you believe yourself to be truly inferior. He looks frozen in time, like someone stole him right from the streets of 18th century England, preserving him exactly as he was. Ferka gazes at his bottle-green coat and waxed mustache, appreciating the view while He unstintingly allows it. He permits this grotesque degeneracy, this mutilating perversity, this... self-inflicted humiliation. Red Jack squeezes his neck in an iron grip — not to kill, but to harm him in a special, deranged way — and smirks, triumphant.

"Jack, please..." begs Ferka, extremely vulnerable and weak, feeling how his knees betray him.

"I want you to say it word by word, syllable by syllable," Red Jack squints, baring his strong teeth in a mischievous grin. Firm grip on Ferka's neck tightens, and he chokes while trying to inhale, licking his lips with sick eagerness. Red Jack doesn't care at all, He's unresponsive, detached, and completely out of touch, but Ferka doesn't mind at all. He loves him just the way He is. He loves a cold-blooded monstrosity with a charming voice and soft yet powerful hands.

"Ruin me. Make me hurt, violate me," whimpers Ferka, grasping thick fabric of His coat with his shaking fingers. Jack's domain spins around him, sinking in the menacing blackness of the all-devouring void, swallowing them whole. "Destroy me only to discard like a useless shard of broken mirror that you can no longer exploit to torture the living and the damned. Make me lose control."

"Oh, you poor thing," coos Red Jack, shoving him away only to pull him back by his long, curly hair, tearing at it with no mercy. Ferka throws his head back, exposing his neck, gulping for air when cold fingers trace his perfectly still carotid artery. Red Jack smiles with barely noticeable traces of an artificial kindness in his steady, enchanting voice. "Do you really want such terrible things to happen to you?"

"I do," that's the point of no return, and Ferka fully accepts it.

Ferka knows that Red Jack despises all of them somewhere deep inside, where his non-existent soul is supposed to be. There's nothing in Him besides the endless hunger for power and genuine curiosity but Ferka truly loves Him. Ferka loves Him like he never loved before in his entire life and unlife altogether. It feels right in a sick, disturbing way, and he's enjoying it while it lasts. Red Jack snaps his wrists with no effort, and tiny shards of bone pierce through his frigid flesh, the bigger ones slicing his veins open. Milky white skin turns purple with pools of blood flowing right under it. 

"Beautiful," whispers Red Jack in his ear and Ferka knows that He's not lying. Not when Jack rips his veins out with His bare hands with such fascination. "You look ravishing, Ferka."

Ferka's mind shuts down when Red Jack drinks his dark red — almost black — vitae like fine wine, comparing it to Bordeaux Merlot. It feels so good that he'd sure collapse if it weren't for Jack's hands holding him in place. Ferka desperately tries to steal a kiss, at least once, but he's not allowed to. He's tortured, not nurtured, and there's no place for any forlorn sentiments. There are bloody tears running down his pale cheeks and Jack catches them all with his ice-cold, rough lips, tasting every drop, relishing his misery. Ferka laughs hysterically. The most exquisite kind of anguish is being here, bathing in His attention only to be thrown away until their next midnight rendezvous. He feels content and pathetic, both at the same time.

At least Ferka can be with him in some way. Inappropriate, sinful, harmful way. At least there's that.


End file.
